Being reviewed:
Evita
Advertisement
Patti Lupone, Auli’i Cravalho, Madonna—these are just a few of the iconic women who have starred in Evita, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s musical about Argentina’s infamously beloved Eva Perón. Since its opening on the West End in 1978, the rock opera has toured the world many times over, showcasing eighteen years of Argentinean history against the backdrop of vintage 1940s dresses, Peronist posters, and a Belle Époque-Art Deco set. Though every new Eva brings something different to the role, the musical’s aesthetic traditions have achieved a classic-cult status; Evita, the world insists, need not be revolutionized. It already is revolutionary.
Jamie Lloyd’s 2025 West End revival, perhaps, disagrees. “It won’t be easy, you’ll think it strange …” So begins the iconic ballad “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” that Rachel Zegler sings every night—and the occasional afternoon matinee—to hundreds of sunstruck descamisados1 from the balcony of England’s own Casa Rosada2: the London Palladium. With her blonde wig and dazzling diamond necklace-earring set, Zegler is nearly unrecognizable; we see only Eva Perón, the humble but chic First Lady of Argentina, keeping her promise to her people, 73 years after her death. Though she urges us not to cry, our breaths catch, and our eyes glisten as she lifts her arms to the heavens that will, one day too soon, take her away from us. When she at last leaves, we blink, finding our shoulders pressed together not in Buenos Aires, 1951, but in the heart of Soho in the summer of 2025.
Indeed, even during its previews, the West End revival of Evita has gathered crowds and critics alike. Disputes rage over its minimalist whims and disruptive presentation, from critical reviews in the New York Times to sprawling Reddit threads and TikTok comment sections. And yet, every voice softens with praise for its leading lady. Rachel Zegler’s 10-minute standing ovations are well deserved, the world seems to agree. As for the director, Jamie Lloyd? Many insist he has razed Andrew Lloyd Webber’s finest musical to the ground. That’s to say, according to public opinion, Zegler is our Evita, undoubtedly—but on the wrong stage.
This production of Evita is one of countless media remakes in 2025 alone. Zegler’s own CV—including West Side Story, Snow White, and a Hunger Games spin-off—proves that the creative market’s nostalgia for the commerce of decades past continues to overshadow popular demand for original material. But unlike other remakes, Jamie Lloyd’s revived Evita does not receive hate for a tired or trite imagination. Like the saint it’s based on, the show is so beloved it’s become a household name across the world, thespians and fathers alike belting “Don’t cry for me, Argentina! The truth is, I never left you …” on a regular basis. Rather, this revival is judged for its perverted pastiche of all the Evitas that came before. It is a lesson, and not necessarily a well-received one, in the art of defamiliarizing a tale already told.
Rather than striving to recreate a historical moment, the set of the 2025 revival reimagines the media forms in which Evita was first represented to the Argentinian people, and eventually, the world beyond.
With its bare-bones scenography, overwhelming lighting and sound design, and, of course, cinematic direction, the musical feels entirely new—so simply saturated that the story is impossible to follow without referencing Wikipedia. Intermission becomes a Google race to read up on all things Perón. But whether or not one is already familiar with Evita, one leaves the London Palladium both enamored and critical of her legacy. Lloyd achieves this contradiction through the pointed, poignant symbolism that so many online deride.
One striking example is the setting, or the lack thereof. Where previous productions of Evita have emphasized 1940s fashion trends and Argentinian cultural eccentricities, this revival is reminiscent of mid-20th-century visual propaganda; that is, an industrial aesthetic with a narrow nationalist color palette and bold typography, featuring the likes of Lenin, Uncle Sam, or Eva and Juan Perón. Rather than striving to recreate a historical moment, the set of the 2025 revival reimagines the media forms in which Evita was first represented to the Argentinian people, and eventually, the world beyond. This becomes breathtakingly clear mere minutes into the show, when the live orchestra swells with sound and five block letters drop like a curtain behind a smirking Rachel Zegler. EVITA, the bright, white letters spell out; naturally, Zegler stands centered with the I.
Some have likened this set to a concert stage, and accordingly, demanded cheaper tickets to compensate for its “inferior” quality. Without question, there are parallels between the visual design of the 2025 Evita and a variety of contemporary art trends—from corporate marketing strategies (such as bold, minimalist Canva social media templates) to the 1975’s recent Still… At Their Very Best tour (except instead of Evita’s school-bleacher risers, their stage is the skeleton of a suburban house). But to discern a lack of artistry in a production with a focused aesthetic only reveals our discomfort with nonconforming works of art. As much as we theatergoers beg for new, daring shows to replace the commercial caricatures forever haunting the West End, it seems we are not yet willing to sacrifice theatrical tradition.
The show’s revealing, monochrome costumes only exacerbate this derisive discourse; as many have noted, its most modest (and couture) moment is when Zegler sings on the balcony in a Christian Dior ball gown. Particularly after videos went viral from Jamie Lloyd’s Sunset Boulevard revival on Broadway—where one of the main characters bows in nothing but blood and his boxers—it’s become a running joke to mock the director’s penchant for nudity. Evita is no different; in fact, the musical’s narrator, Che, takes a similarly bare, bloodstained bow. Out of context, the character’s appearance seems like a parody of Rocky from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but as the critical voice of the descamisados (literally the “shirtless ones” in Spanish), Che’s stripping suggests the torture—metaphorical, literal, or both—of all those who opposed Eva Perón and the man she stood for until her last breath. When the colors of the Argentinian flag pour over Che’s head in the second act, mixing in with the red blood staining his chest, he chokes and falls to the foot of the stage. Or rather, to the feet of Evita.
Like the paint, the revival’s use of balloons also evokes the insistent nationalism of Peronist propaganda; we see the needle hovering, we brace ourselves for the bullet to fly, and yet, every time, we flinch when the balloon finally pops and the body drops to the ground. Over and over, Jamie Lloyd taunts us with the show’s tragic end—warns us of what’s to come—but we stubbornly refuse to look away. And if we ever try to, a roaring chorus chanting “Perón, Perón, Perón,” forces our attention back to Evita’s blinding light—forces us to watch as it inevitably dims.
“Make bold choices” is a common saying in the world of theater; to many thespians’ chagrin, Jamie Lloyd has stretched this aphorism to its limits. His revival’s blend of performance traditions—such as its choreography, which borrows from sources as diverse as clubs to marching bands—as well as its loud abstinence from the exuberant realism of commercial theater, has the confounding effect of both immersing and distancing the audience. Nothing embodies this technique more than the show’s use of AV technology. The second act begins with a live projection of Zegler singing “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” on the balcony outside the Palladium. Like a news broadcast, the feed jumps to multiple camera angles as she looks over a crowd of hundreds, seeming to meet the gaze of everyone but those inside the theater. We are left feeling both awed and neglected—indeed, many have protested that ticket payers ought to have access to the entirety of the show (on stage). The camera later returns when the ballad reprises for Evita’s final address. This time, she sings from the stage, but through the close-up angle projected behind her, we are made witnesses to the raw acting choices of the film star that Eva Perón was (and Rachel Zegler is). We could not be any closer to her when the life leaves her eyes.
With such an inviting, estranging cyclorama, this revived Evita becomes an undeniable interpretation. Of course, it always was, but catchy lyrics and the notoriety of the film’s Evita, Madonna, have long distracted us from the narrative at hand—from the real history behind Peronism, whose shrapnel scars still mark Plaza de Mayo today. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Evita, from its first concept album in 1976, commodified the complicated legacy of Eva Perón, imagining her life both in and out of the spotlight. It did and does not have the breadth to seriously consider her political moment, so we are not forced to. We may watch Evita perform without ever asking why she had to, in the first place—why she still does, and to sold-out audiences in London, no less. These questions, and their roots in the colonial history of the Old and New Worlds, are not so easily dismissed beneath the bright, blinding letters of EVITA in Jamie Lloyd’s nonconforming revival. By forcing the audience closer to Evita through a new (camera) lens, the production implicates us all in the violence skirting the musical’s score—and even more significantly, the blood-stained coins funding the Western spectacle. Though Zegler is the first Latina Evita to gain the same acclaim as her white predecessors (such as Patti LuPone), this revival is not an Argentinian production; its seats are not filled with descamisados; its profits will not help to address the crisis that still shocks the region today. A crisis that the British played no small part in creating.3
That is perhaps the real success of this revival. Jamie Lloyd does not coddle us with the escape of the red curtain. His dramaturgy welcomes controversy—invites us all into the theater, whether or not one has a ticket. At the same time, thanks to Zegler’s devastating performance, we cannot help but weep for Eva Perón’s infamy and condemn the commercial stage on which she lives and dies still. We both denounce the production and stand outside its balcony every night, desperate to hear our Evita sing: “Have I said too much? There’s nothing more I can think of to say to you. But all you have to do is look at me to know that every word is true.” 
- Descamisados, or “the shirtless ones,” was first used to derogatively refer to Juan Perón’s working-class followers, before he and Eva reclaimed the term. Even before its official opening, the Evita revival security team struggled with crowd control and extreme heat. Thrapp, Jacki. 2025. “Multiple theater fans ‘fall ill’ waiting in heat to watch Rachel Zegler perform ‘Evita’ balcony scene amid backlash: report.” New York Post, June 21, 2025. ↩︎
- Casa Rosada, Spanish for “Pink House”, is where Eva Perón gave her famous speech in 1951. ↩︎
- For a nuanced overview of the academic debate on the political relationship between Argentina and Britain, see David Rock, “The British in Argentina: From Informal Empire to Postcolonialism,” Bulletin of Latin American Research (2008), 27: 49-77. ↩︎
